The Assistant
by Amiyrasmom
Summary: Honey 'Verse. For all of those wondering about A here is her story. Well, how she met the gang anyway.
1. A Story Told by A

**Disclaimer: So I've headed north and have stopped for the night in a town called Mantoudi. Everyday my goal grows closer. I only hope I'm not wrong. I have kept my ears open for any mention of Eros or Mt. Olympus. Seeing some very pretty country along the way. Well, none of you want to hear about my Greece trip do you? You want to know if Sherlock and Company are mine. They're not. And I make no money off of them either. Happy now? Just had to rub that little fact in didn't you?**

**A/N: A is finally being half-way cooperative. Though only if I tell the story her way. She's actually a very pushy little pain in the un-hunh. Still here it is: how A and the gang met. Enjoy it. **

**The Assistant**

**A Story told by A**

I stared at him. Unobtrusively, of course. This man across the desk, with his dark auburn hair and unworldly gray eyes. He was not a man to be stared at. No, not him. He was different from the other men I'd met in his position, or really a position like his.

We did not dare to speak of what his position was. Not among ourselves and most certainly not to him or the others like him. They were the shadow men. The men and women that ran our country without anyone knowing. They started or stopped wars, called for the assassinations of world leaders, executed terrorists, and only God himself knows what else. All without anyone ever knowing their names or faces.

I'd been given his name in the file I'd read in preparation for this interview but it was such an outlandish name that it must have been an alias. Seriously who names their child Mycroft Albion Holmes? If it wasn't a made up name I felt very sorry for him.

He continued to stare, no that isn't the right word; he continued to use those unblinking otherworldly grey eyes to dissect me. To anyone else that stare would have been unnerving. But I have been stared at my whole life. It sort of comes with the territory. Any beautiful woman will be stared at constantly. A beautiful woman with a junkie, prostitute for a mother will be stared at even more and with more rancor. So his stare did nothing to intimidate me rather it amused me.

"You have been informed of your duties, have you not?" He finally asked me.

I held back the roll of my eyes with some difficulty and something about the way he held himself made me wonder if he knew how ridiculous I'd found his question. "Of course, sir," I said anyway.

"Very good," he said quietly. "You're office is through there." He waved a hand towards a wood paneled door to the right of his desk. "You will start tomorrow morning at seven sharp. I expect you to use today to familiarize yourself with your office and my secretary, Bettina. Any…entanglements should be dealt with as well."

"I have no entanglements, Mr. Holmes." I paused. "My prior duties did not lend themselves to entanglements and I have never expected to have any. I am at your disposal, sir."

He chuckled a little and those grey eyes turned a bit blue. "You may come to regret that statement, Agent A. Incidentally, the ban on true names stands, even now."

I gave him a small frown. "I had surmised that, sir."

He smiled then. "Had you really?" Dimples that would have been attractive if I'd felt any kind of attraction to a man appeared. "I assure you, Agent A, my real name is Mycroft Holmes. My parents were a bit…old fashioned."

"Oh," I said swallowing. I hoped he hadn't been offended by my assumption but nothing more was ever said on the subject. I left his office for my own then. I wondered briefly what the future would bring for me but brushed the thought aside and picked up the small mobile phone lying on my new desk. Little did I know then that it would become like another limb for me.

SH/JW SH/JW SH/JW

The next few weeks were among the worst of my life, and I'd had some bad ones before. Mr. Holmes never slept, I think. He would call me in nearly every night at some ungodly hour and I'd work for thirty-six to forty-eight hours with barely time to grab a cup of tea. Mr. Holmes never looked tired or unruffled. I think I hated him then. We'd fly off to Bosnia or America or somewhere, I forget now and I wouldn't even see the hotel reservations I'd booked.

They were also among the best. Mr. Holmes was a good employer in his own way. He could always tell when I was ready to drop and would send me off to bed or hand me that rare cup of tea. He was a quiet one around other people but after my second week he talked to me. He would tell me the silliest things about the people we'd met and smile at my light giggles. We had become friends of a sort, I think.

There were two events that solidified our working and personal relationship. No, we are not in any way romantically involved. Mycroft is one of my best friends and his wife is one of the nicest people I've ever met. My own…well, she's not nice but I do love her very much. I won't tell you of either of them because they both came much later, long after I'd become one of the Holmes' family. They seemed to collect us strays and I believe they are better men because of it, they still do. Collect us strays I mean.

But I'm rambling. I do sometimes. It drives Sherlock insane, which is always fun. For such a smart man he's so easily ruffled. He's the first event I spoke of. Mycroft never introduced his personal assistants slash bodyguards to his brother until after they'd been around for a month or so. He'd lost three of us because of his brother. Sherlock is far more observant than Mycroft. Mycroft says that he sees as much as Sherlock he just keeps his mouth shut better but I don't believe him, not anymore. But you want to hear about the day I first met Sherlock and John do you not? So I will tell you. It's a good story I think. Fun and funny and yet also sad. Well, just keep reading and you will see what I mean.

Yes, I am aware that I did say TWO events. But as Sherlock and to a small extent John caused the second I must tell the story of meeting them before that. Besides that's how they happened. I met the duo and then the other event came about. So allow me to tell the story my own way or stop reading. It is up to you.


	2. 86 St James Street

**Disclaimer: Have made it to the coast. I'm in Neos Pirgos. It's an interesting town. Tonight I will board a boat to Glifa. Luckily I was able to help out in a shop in order to raise some money for the trip. I know that I could use the credit card my parents loaned me but I'd rather save it for emergencies (like bail money). Still no sign of Eros. I'm beginning to think that I'm in the wrong country all together. Lestrade is safe from my machinations for now as are all the rest and if I had the money from owning them do you think I'd be saving my credit card for bail money?**

**A/N: Mmm, so what do you think so far? I'm not really big on first person stories but I think I'm doing a rather good job. Let me know and also please remember that I am not British. If you see any words or phrases that don't belong please tell me so that I can fix them. Anywho, enjoy!**

**86 Saint James Street**

It was the first sunny day London had seen all spring. Every day before this one had been foggy and rainy. I disliked the rain, always had. Rain made me feel sad and out of sorts. Why live in London then, you ask? Because it was all I had ever known. London, even with its fog and rain was home. I couldn't imagine living anywhere else, still can't.

I'd been working for Mycroft for nearly five weeks and could barely remember what my life had been before. The past seemed surreal and the present so vivid. I wondered sometimes which was the dream. In the five weeks since I'd started I'd flown to every continent on the planet save Antarctica though there were plans for us to go there within the next few months to check on the progress of one of our projects. The work was hard but rewarding. I quite liked it.

None of the friends I'd made during my days as a ******** understood why I was happy now. Some of them had worked for Mycroft before and found him difficult and abrasive. I found him to be quite engaging when he wanted to be and easy to please. I do not believe that it was because he had fallen for my looks as some of them had suggested. I thought that they were just lazy and didn't care to do their best for him.

But you'd rather hear about where I'm headed with this than my inane ramblings, wouldn't you? You are only reading this to hear about Mycroft's brother and his husband and not me or even Mycroft, aren't you? But this is my story, as I've said and I shall tell it my own way or not at all.

Where was I? Oh, yes! The sunny day. The first one of the year…well, spring anyway. The air, even in polluted London, had the smell of flowers and green, growing things. It was as if the earth itself had finally woken from a long, good sleep and was ready to live again. I love spring, so many possibilities to explore.

I was seated in my smallish office, monitoring weather patterns and answering e-mails from agents in the field among other more classified things. I had my one window thrown wide open to allow in the sun and the breeze and the smell of springtime. Mycroft was in his own office and the door between was open so that I could hear if he needed me. I could hear him on the phone. His voice was clipped and that was my first clue that something wasn't right. I frantically checked all of my incoming messages but everything was fine. Well, not fine but manageable. There was nothing that could have caused that level of coldness in my boss's voice.

"Come, A," he called to me from his office. There was a sense of urgency in his tone that I'd not heard before. I scrambled gracefully from my chair, swept the mobile phone from the top of my desk and walked quickly to his side. He eyed me for a moment and then nodded curtly to himself. "We must go. Call the car around."

I did as he'd bid because that was my job, but my mind swirled with questions. "Shall I tell Bryce where to take us?" I asked one of the multitudes that plagued me.

Mycroft only smiled mysteriously and to my eyes that smile was also a bit strained. "He'll know," was his only verbal answer.

I didn't dare ask what exactly that meant. I had known my boss long enough to have learned not to question too deeply into his orders. I followed him from the room, past his secretary and down the hall to the lifts without saying anything else or even lifting my attention from the screen of my phone. I had become proficient in this art in the past five weeks. I knew if I left the numerous e-mails, weather reports or text messages for even a few minutes they would become unmanageable, especially at midmorning.

"Shall I push back your meeting with the PM, sir? It's a lunch meeting in two hours." I hoped he said no. The PM always got so put out when Mycroft put him off and he did it a lot. This particular meeting had been postponed four times this week.

Mycroft sighed heavily. This surprised me greatly as Mycroft wasn't one for sighing or showing any outward emotion. "Yes, I only hope this doesn't take all day." He bit out. "Push it back to two o'clock for now and convey my apologies to the PM."

"Yes sir," I said. What in the world could have ruffled Mycroft Holmes so much? I followed him out of the building and into the black car that was waiting.

"86 St. James Street, sir?" Bryce asked after we were settled into the seats.

Mycroft grimaced in disgust at the address. "Yes, Bryce."

"Very good, sir," Bryce nodded. "So he's started a day early then?" Bryce didn't quite grasp the concept of not questioning his boss. I think it was because he had been Mycroft's main driver for ten years and had been with Mycroft's family before that.

I had yet to meet any of Mycroft's family but I knew that his father and his mother lived on their country estate. He had a younger brother as well but his file hadn't contained much on him. I wasn't quite sure why but I suspected that Mycroft had removed as much as he could to protect said brother. I found out later that I had only been partially right. Sherlock removed quite a bit himself and added other parts, like a note about Mycroft's passion for cake and other sweets. I hadn't believed this bit of information, figuring that it was someone's idea of a joke. Which it was but it was also very true. Mycroft has a sweet tooth like nobody's business.

Mycroft frowned fiercely at the air beyond Bryce. "He has. If he gets them evicted again I will be supremely displeased."

I kept quiet hoping for more information. How could I protect him if I didn't have all the information I needed? Bryce pulled away from the kerb and out into traffic. "He won't get them evicted, sir. The landlord is away for the week."

"I doubt that will stop him from evicting them if he blows something up in his anger again," Mycroft rubbed at his jaw. It was one of the small tells that I had learned over the last few weeks. Mycroft was very good at hiding his emotions to the outside world but he did show what he was feeling if you knew what to look for. The rubbing of his jaw meant that he was worried and frustrated.

I had no idea who they were talking about at the time and now that I know that conversation makes a whole lot more sense than it did at the time. In an effort to relieve some of the frustration and to hopefully make the two o'clock meeting I hacked into the stoplight system. We breezed through every light and made very good time. It only took us twenty two minutes to make it to St. James Street.

I stared up at the dilapidated building after Mycroft and I had stepped from the car. It wasn't the worst building I'd ever seen. During some of Mother's darker days we had lived in some really rank lodgings. This building was old and should be condemned but like I said I'd seen worse, much worse.

Mycroft rubbed at his jaw with one hand while the other tapped his umbrella on the ground. In Mycroft speak that meant that he was worried, frustrated and becoming irritated. He stared up at the building for a moment and then stepped to the door. It opened under his touch with an ominous creak. The sunny day suddenly seemed a bit darker and I shivered with a sudden chill.

I hurried after him into the darkened interior of the building with a last longing look back at the safety and comfort of the car. What in the world was I getting myself into?


	3. Sherlock

**Disclaimer: Just so you know, I hate boats! The sea, channel, whatever is choppy as Hell because of a storm and I'm puking my guts up. When I went to the middle of the Aegean Sea it was smooth as glass. I really don't like this boat! We should be landing in Velestino soon and then I swear I am never getting on a boat again. I only hope Lestrade is worth all this trouble. Oh, who am I kidding? We all know he is. For now though, I still don't have him or any of the others.**

**A/N: Okay so the Sunday Blitz is only one chapter. I apologize. I had a really hectic week and meant to write this weekend but it was like this week sucked my ideas dry. Anyway, unless we get home from church early this is the last chapter of the Blitz but not the story. There is at least one more after this.**

**Sherlock**

The lift was broken. Of course it was. I don't think I'd ever been in a building in this part of town where the lift did work. I followed Mycroft up the dark stairs. There were no windows here and the light bulbs were obviously either gone or broken. The stairs creaked as ominously as the door had and I felt another shudder work its way up my spine.

I walked a bit faster to stay close to Mycroft. Who knew who or what would jump out of the shadows in a building like this in this part of town. I shifted and felt the reassuring weight of both the gun at the small of my back and the knife strapped to my inner thigh. I also knew that if I pressed a particular series of buttons on the phone grasped tightly in my hand it would shoot out an electric charge, similar to a stun gun.

I was comforted knowing that the umbrella had a sword hidden in the handle and that Mycroft was trained as I was in the martial arts. He may look stuffy and aristocratic but I had seen him spar with his coach. The man moved like lightning when it suited him.

He paused at the top of the stairs on the fourth floor and drew in a deep breath. What was he gearing himself up for? I'd never seen Mycroft act in this way before and it made no sense. He'd been cool as a cucumber when we'd been held at gunpoint in Libya only four days before and yet here he was nervous? Worried? Something anyway.

"Should I go first, sir?" I asked. I was his bodyguard.

He turned his head to look at me, one eyebrow lifted in faint surprise. "No. There is no danger here."

I looked around the hall we were standing dubiously. "Really?" I asked him dryly.

He grimaced in disgust again. "Well, not from our mission today. We're merely here to drop in on someone and prevent World War III from erupting in London."

I know my face showed my shock at this statement. Mycroft had the rare ability to completely break through my masks. No one had ever done that before but he managed it effortlessly. "World War III?" I asked.

"Mmm," he hummed. He walked a few steps down the hall to the door to one of the flats on this floor, raised his fist, paused, lowered it and turned the handle. It opened and there was no creak.

Sunlight suddenly spilled from the flat into the hall, lighting it up and bringing the scent of spring and fresh air into the dark, dank corridor. I felt better, immediately. Safer and warmer too. Some of the tension bled from Mycroft's shoulders and I breathed a bit easier.

"John?" He called into the interior of the flat. "Sherlock?" The names meant nothing to me. Sherlock had deleted his own name and every single mention of John from Mycroft's file. Mycroft entered the flat with me hot on his heels. No matter his faith in our safety there was no way I was letting him enter an unknown situation alone.

The front room was light and airy. The windows were thrown wide to let in the spring breeze. The light glinted off of a violin sitting in the corner of the room. The only dark spot in the whole room was the face of a teenager on the sofa. "Go away, Mycroft," he growled. "You are not wanted or needed here." I took a step back at the viciousness of his tone and then straightened my back and stood at Mycroft's side.

"Sherlock," a warning voice I didn't recognize said. I shifted my eyes to the direction of the voice and saw a blond man. He was short with hazel eyes and an uncompromising posture. He had crossed his arms over his chest and was shooting the teenager a mild glare. He couldn't have been that much older than the boy. "Be nice."

The teenager turned his fierce glare away from my boss and to the blond man. "You have no say in what I do. You're leaving, remember?"

The blond sighed. "Only for a week, you plonker. I have survival training. It's kind of mandatory." He squeezed the bridge of his nose and shook his head a bit. "We've been over this a hundred times, Sherlock."

"And I have said every time that I will not allow you to leave me." Sherlock, the teenager shot back. "Why you insisted on not allowing Father and Mother to pay for your schooling so that you could stay with me, I'll never understand."

The man seemed to rub his nose harder. "Sherlock…" he shook his head more violently this time and stood up straight. "I have to pack." He turned his attention to Mycroft. "You deal with him." He stalked out of the room.

Mycroft was silent for a moment and then looked over at the sulking teenager before sitting in an armchair across from him. His umbrella tapped lightly against the floor. "Sherlock," he sighed. "You've known he'd be leaving for months. It's only a week."

Sherlock scowled at him and then stared at me. That stare from those otherworldly grey eyes was unnerving. Mycroft had the same eyes only not so intense. This must be the brother, I thought to myself.

"I am," the boy told me. "Unfortunately. The only brother he has, much to his shame. Unless you count John, which I don't because he's mine and not Mycroft's."

"Pardon?" I asked.

He scowled even more and turned back to Mycroft. "Another stupid one, brother. When are you going to get an assistant that actually has a brain in their heads?"

Mycroft matched his glare and I scowled. "I do have a brain," I told him. "I have the CAT Scan to prove it. Would you like to see it?" I knew that wasn't what he meant but I get a bit…literal when I'm angry. I also thought it would at least confuse him a bit. I wasn't quite sure I liked this brother of Mycroft's with his acid tongue.

Those unearthly grey eyes swung back to me and widened. The boy's lips twitched and then he scowled. "Do you really think you're funny?" He hissed.

I raised a brow at him. "I wasn't intending to make a joke, Mr. Holmes. I was merely stating  
a fact. It would be very difficult for me to function without a brain now wouldn't it?"

"We are getting off track," Mycroft interrupted before his brother could say whatever it was that he was thinking. "John called me because you are upset."

Sherlock's head whipped around back to Mycroft so fast I swear I heard his neck creak. "I am not upset," he snarled. "I don't care what he does." He crossed his arms over his chest and sank back onto the sofa in a sulk. "I do not _sulk_." He growled at me.

"Really?" I drawled. I had known boys like him before. At first I had thought that he was spoiled but something about his anger said that this was something a bit different. He reminded me a bit of a friend of mine when I was young. Aaron had been a high-functioning autistic. He would become angered or depressed for no reason at all. So I did with Sherlock what I'd done with Aaron; be an absolute pest until he stopped being angry. "If you say so." My tone was light and airy as though I didn't believe him but was willing to let him think I did.

He stopped scowling and confusion spread over his features. "I don't." He sounded unsure now.

"Of course you don't," I agreed and moved to stand beside Mycroft who was staring at me in something akin to surprise. "You're only angry because your…John is leaving. Perfectly understandable."

Sherlock's grey eyes drifted to the doorway that John had stalked through. "He's my fiancé," he said.

"Congratulations," I told him immediately. "I'm sure you will both be very happy together." It was just something people said but I did mean it. Finding someone to love is never just something people say. I'd seen enough sadness and pain in my life that anyone finding even a modicum of happiness makes me feel overjoyed.

He stared at me some more and I could feel Mycroft's eyes assessing me. "You mean that." Sherlock stated.

I nodded. "Now why are you really angry, Mr. Holmes?" I asked him now that he seemed to have calmed a little.

He cocked his head to the side as he studied me. Those grey eyes blinked for a moment. "What is your name?" He asked instead of answering my question.

I thought about that for a moment. Oh, I had no intention of giving him my real name. I barely remembered it myself sometimes. He was like my friend Aaron and I was Agent A because I'd been top of my class. "At," I said finally.

"At?" He questioned. "What kind of a name is that? It's not even a proper name! It's a preposition!" His scowl was back but behind those grey eyes there was curiosity. "And I'm not autistic."

"He has Asperger's," Mycroft informed me. That was a whole new kettle of fish. But it didn't change anything. He still reminded me of Aaron and in memory of my dead friend I would do what I could for this boy.

"Mycroft!" Sherlock spat. "She didn't need that information! Now where in the world did you come up with the name of At?"

I shrugged lightly. "It got you out of your mood, didn't it?"

Sherlock frowned and then his lips twitched again. He looked at me consideringly. "Don't let Mycroft near your morning pastries," he warned. He looked back at Mycroft. "Don't do anything stupid to chase her away."

And that was that. We ended up taking John and Sherlock to lunch and then Mycroft had his meeting with the PM to get too. I found Sherlock an intriguing young man and John an engaging conversationalist. They seemed to have been made for each other. Their separate strengths only reinforced the weaknesses of the other. Sherlock claims to not have a weakness but we all know that's not true don't we?

I am unsure what I said, exactly, to make Sherlock like me but I am thankful for it. Maybe he saw something in his deductions that convinced him that I wasn't as stupid as the rest of humanity. I don't think I'll ever know because I shall never ask him. He would find that an idiotic question. Maybe if I die first I'll ask him on my deathbed. I can always claim senility then.

So that was how I met John and Sherlock and between you and me, even though Sherlock reminds me of my friend Aaron whose father killed him when we were twelve I prefer to spend time with John. John is…well, comforting. He just makes me feel as though I can handle anything. Sometimes I think he is like a house. Just there and always ready for someone to enter his life and make a home.


	4. The Second Incident

**Disclaimer: I am aware that it is only about five miles from Neos Pirgos to Glifa. I don't care. The water was so choppy and horrible that I've spent the night in Glifa. And now I'm off to Neos Plantanos. I hear it's pretty too. I don't know or really care at this point. I detest being ill. I only hope that I can obtain some information about Eros or Mt. Olympus. Nope they still aren't mine and I'm still very poor…well, not so much as it was payday this week and I am gainfully employed.**

**A/N: Thought I'd forgotten didn't you? Well, I didn't. Here is the next chapter of The Assistant. Let me know what you think.**

**The Second Incident**

It was two days before John's scheduled return when the second incident started. Mycroft had gone to the flat every day to check up on Sherlock. I think the teenager resented that more than a little. At least if his vicious statements every time Mycroft showed up at his door were anything to go by. I had been treated to some of the same until he realized that he could never upset me. Seriously after the life I'd had not much bothered me, a teenager spouting off because he missed his fiancé and hated that his older brother still saw him as a child was very low down on that list.

Mycroft dealt with Sherlock's…er temper tantrum in the only way he knew how; sniping back in that calm manner that infuriates Sherlock so much. I dealt with it with humor and gave as good as I got. After the first few days Sherlock gravitated to me when we visited and only sniped at me when I had been unable to come the day before. He liked having visitors even if he didn't know how to express it.

Mycroft had spoken to me after our first visit about Sherlock. He hadn't explained their life story but I knew enough to be getting on with. I knew for instance exactly why Sherlock was so distraught (don't tell him I used that word) over John's absence and why Mycroft was so concerned. No, Mycroft never used those exact words but I got the inference. John and Sherlock had only ever been separated a few times and John was Sherlock's stability. They kept each other grounded. I suspected that John was having just as difficult a time being away from Sherlock as Sherlock was being away from John.

Mycroft had also reluctantly informed me of "Sherlock's condition". I snorted mentally at his careful phrasing. I knew enough of Autism and its sister condition Asperger's to know what he was talking about. I didn't tell him about Aaron; that would have been uncomfortable and irritating. Instead I shrugged indifferently and went on treating Sherlock the same as I had on our first meeting. I suspect that Sherlock had an idea about Aaron and Mycroft too I suppose but neither of them ever mentioned it.

Right the event that cemented me as one of the Holmes' family. I'd nearly forgotten what we were talking about. So, John was due back in two day's time, Sherlock was irritable with his missing of John, Mycroft was concerned for his brother and I was, to be completely truthful, rather amused at them.

Mycroft had woken me with a phone call that morning at 3:52 am even though we'd only left the office at 1:30 am. I was more than a little irked with him but kept all my irritation from my voice while speaking to him over the phone. I, in turn, called Bryce to come and pick me up. He wasn't any happier than I was to be woken from a very much earned rest but he kept his grumbling to a minimum and was at the building within fifteen minutes. We swung by Mycroft's townhouse and then sped away to a destination the gentlemen hadn't informed me of. By this time it was nearly five and the sun was rising over London.

"Lord Acton-Myers has given his mistress sensitive information," Mycroft said as soon  
as he'd stepped into the car.

How he could look so unruffled and calm after only an hour's worth of sleep and being informed of such dire tidings I'd never know. I kept my own face neutral as I typed furiously, checking on a number of our agents. Lord Acton-Myers was one of the few people who knew the names and locations of more than two or three of our overseas agents. "Sir? Where are we going?" The car was not headed towards any of the offices that Mycroft kept around the city.

"We will need outside help with this," Mycroft told me vaguely. I shifted my eyes to Bryce who was better versed in the language of Holmes than I was.

"He means Master Sherlock," Bryce told me.

"Oh," I said and went back to checking on the agents in the field. None of them had been compromised so far but that could change at any moment. I ordered them to give thirty minute check-ins until the crisis was resolved.

Mycroft frowned a bit and sighed heavily. "Unfortunately John isn't around to make Sherlock be reasonable. He's going to be unbearable."

I smirked behind the mobile in my hand. Half of Sherlock's bluster was only to anger Mycroft and I think even he knew it. "I could ask him, sir," I offered. Sherlock was far more likely to say yes quickly to me and this was excessively important.

Mycroft eyed me for a moment, considering and then shook his head with another sigh. "He'd only give you a hard time and tell me that I was a coward."

I shrugged but I knew he was correct. Sherlock would delight in tweaking Mycroft's nose for allowing his assistant to ask for his help.

We were both very wrong however. As soon as we showed up at Sherlock's door he held out his hand for the file Mycroft was holding. Mycroft handed it over with a bemused scratch of his ear. "Tell me everything you know," Sherlock ordered.

Mycroft drew in a deep breath. "Miss Margaret Welton is offering information on our agents to every country. She claims to know all of our agents in the field, even the deep undercover ones. She is offering to sell this information to the governments of each country where they are located in exchange for either a hefty amount of cash or sanctuary."

Sherlock flipped through the file, his eyes darting at a nearly impossible speed over the words. "How did she come by this information? Does she really have all of their names or is she bluffing?"

"Miss Welton is the mistress of Lord Acton-Myers," Mycroft said grimly. "He admits that he may have shared the particulars of our agents with her. Yes, she has all of their names. Lord Acton-Myers is one of the members of Her Majesty's cabinet and very close friends with both the PM and the director of MI-6."

Sherlock snorted derisively with a roll of his eyes. "Freddie's always been rather dim, Mycroft, and easily taken in by a pretty face. I'll see what I can do. Do you have a picture of her?"

I held back my snicker only by biting my lips. Mycroft grimaced. "You have never liked Lord Acton-Myers, Sherlock. Her picture should be in the file. We don't have long. Her messages said she'd be available for negotiating tomorrow at 7 pm. Though that may very well change if she knows we're on to her."

Sherlock had evidently found the picture of Maggie Welton and was studying it intently. "American?" His eyebrows rose. "Really? Interesting. Have you asked the American embassy if she's there?"

Mycroft shook his head and even I looked at Sherlock in astonishment. "Miss Welton was born and raised in Bath, Sherlock." I couldn't stop myself from giving a small nod of agreement.

"Mycroft," he growled out. "I am never wrong about nationalities and you know it. Miss Welton is American though she was raised in the Middle East from the age of eight or nine. Just look at the way she styles her hair." Sherlock pulled the photograph out and passed it to Mycroft.

Mycroft gazed at the picture for a moment and then scowled. "Call the American Embassy, Ariadne," he ordered. "Then, should that prove fruitless, ask our Libyan operative."

My eyes slightly wider than normal and my brain whirling with this new information I did as my boss and friend had bid me. I nearly choked on the information that came from the Americans. "Miss Welton was murdered in Libya nearly fifteen years ago, sir. Our Libyan agent reports that he has no information on her."

Sherlock smirked at me. "He wouldn't. Try your Israeli connections." He flopped down on the sofa and studied the ceiling while he waited for me to access the Israeli agents.

"Only the four that Lord Acton-Myers didn't know about are responding, sir," I informed Mycroft. "They have no information on Miss Welton."

Mycroft swore viciously in seven languages. "Call them home," he ordered. "I'm going to do something drastic to that annoying little fop! Ariadne, call the Israeli Embassy and see if you can get any information."

Sherlock looked over to Mycroft. "Impressive, I don't think even John knows all those words. And aren't the Israelis our allies?"

Mycroft gave him a small frown. "Yes, they are, but when has that ever stopped any government from keeping an eye on another? And there are always factions in any country that are xenophobic."

Sherlock leapt from the sofa. "I'll go check with my contacts." He shrugged into his coat and headed for the door. "Do not let him touch John's cake, Ariadne," he called over his shoulder. "Or I shall find the most embarrassing event to ever happen to you and sell it to the papers."

Mycroft affected a highly offended expression. "There is no need to threaten my assistant, Sherlock. I wouldn't dream of eating John's cake," he paused. "Besides I know you made it and I know better than to try to choke down any food that you have had a hand in. It isn't safe."

Sherlock scowled and swept out the door. "Do you think he'll find her?" I asked.

Mycroft smiled smugly. "Oh yes. However we will need to keep an eye on him and make sure he stays out of trouble."

I nodded though even our cameras on him at all times did not help us stop him from attracting the trouble.


	5. My Final Test

**Disclaimer: Well, everyone was right Neos Plantanos is pretty. Of course, it's Greece and until this trip I'd only ever been to Baja, Mexico and Prince Edward Island, Canada (which is SO green and pretty) so anywhere is going to be pretty even the Sahara. Please don't say I need to go there! Still no Eros but I'm not despairing and I'm no longer ill. I will have Lestrade if it's the last thing I do. But he's not yet my blankie. Neither are any of the others. And I'm a bit poorer today than yesterday. I paid some bills and now I'm nearly broke again. Funny how that happens.**

**A/N: Last chapter of The Assistant. Hope you liked it and I'll see you next story.**

**My Final Test**

I didn't know at the time that everything for the past month and a half had been a test. Of course, I don't think the Holmes' brothers thought it was either. Their minds don't work like everyone else's but you already knew that, didn't you?

What kind of test? You mean you haven't figured it out from everything I've said? Maybe Sherlock's right: most people are idiots. I'll tell you though because while I have become an honorary Holmes I'm one of the nice ones, like John. The six weeks I'd been working for Mycroft was a test of my viability as a Holmes.

Sherlock, as you know, is a magnet for trouble. To become a Holmes, though they never say it and they are not even aware of this fact, one must either keep trouble from finding Sherlock or voluntarily dig him out of trouble once it's found him. Keeping him away from trouble is a nearly impossible task and the only person truly capable of that task is John. The rest of us usually only manage damage control.

We had left Sherlock's flat that morning and gone to one of Mycroft's offices. I kept one eye on the CCTV feeds that were following Sherlock and the other on the agents that were compromised. So far only the Israeli agents were missing. Unfortunately two were already dead, one was still missing and the last two that Lord Acton-Myers had known about were laying low until we could send an extraction team. I had delegated the task of informing the families of the dead agents to one of our on call grief counselors. I had ordered all Israeli agents home, whether they were compromised or not.

Although I could tell that it irritated him, Sherlock answered my hourly check-ins with him. He would text back with a scowl at one of the cameras but he would text back. My favorite was his text at ten o'clock.

_I had never wished for an older sister, Ariadne, and now I know why._

_ -SH_

My smile at that text had Mycroft asking if Sherlock had found Miss Welton. "Not yet, sir. He simply sent an amusing insult. I apologize for getting your hopes up."

Mycroft eyed me shrewdly and then smirked. "At times Sherlock's insults carry a degree of truth."

The smile on my only grew at that comment. I smiled for the rest of the morning until just after noon all of the cameras on the street around Sherlock lost power at the same time.

So that was how I became an honorary Holmes.

Why are you yelling? I have told the story, just like you wanted. What happened? That part isn't important is it? You should know already that Sherlock survived and married John. My own wife is reading over my shoulder, or was, until she started laughing to hard to see. I told you she isn't exactly nice.

You really want to know what happened to Sherlock that day? Are you sure? I mean totally positive that you just have to know whether Maggie Welton captured him? Very well, since you insist I shall finish this incident. Even though it has nothing to do with how I became a Holmes.

Where was I? Am I irritating you yet? Sherlock claims that I have the rare ability to irritate anyone with merely a look. I don't think he's telling the truth but who knows with him. The story? Oh, right!

After the cameras cut out on that street I frantically called up the ones from surrounding streets while calling to Mycroft in the other room. Within moments I saw a black car, how very clichéd, darting across the street from the alley leading to the one where Sherlock had been. I tagged it and followed it through the cameras. Mycroft appeared behind me and began cursing in five new languages.

The car eventually entered one of the districts where there were no cameras. Believe it or not there are several of those. I consulted a map of the area while Mycroft phoned Bryce to bring the car around.

In that particular section there was only an abandoned warehouse, again clichéd. I switched the feed to my mobile and followed Mycroft out the door and towards the lifts.

"We have exactly one hour and thirty-seven minutes to retrieve Sherlock, Ariadne." Mycroft's voice broke the silence of the lift as we rode it down to the ground floor. "After that, there will be a one man war in London."

"Sir?" I could not keep the astonishment and curiosity from my voice.

"I did not expect Sherlock to make such quick progress and called John in from his training. He is scheduled to return at two o'clock. Should he return to London and find Sherlock missing…" he paused and gave a small shudder. "Well, we shan't speak of the consequences of that and we will simply ensure that Sherlock is safe and whole before two."

"That would be our wisest course of action," I agreed with a hard swallow. I had learned enough of Sherlock and John in the past week to be able to envision the utter fury that the small package that was John Watson could hold.

Bryce drove us to within a block of the warehouse and waited while Mycroft and I stealthily made our way to one of the side entrances. Yes, we could have been wrong and they may have been keeping Sherlock in one of the other buildings but the huge guard on the door was a big clue that they were in fact keeping Sherlock in the warehouse. I was more than a little disappointed. An abandoned warehouse that suddenly has activity inside it is a glaring sign that something nefarious is occurring.

The guard was easily and quickly subdued. Mycroft was lethal with that umbrella and I wasn't anything to laugh at myself. Truthfully, the guard relied too much on his size and intimidation factor.

I followed Mycroft into the dark depths of the warehouse's interior and to the large loading area. We could hear grunts and muffled curses as we crept along the shadows.

"What kept you, brother?" Sherlock's voice greeted us. He was standing, quite unharmed, in the middle of the space facing us. "I expected you five minutes ago."

"I am not stupid, Mr. Holmes, and I will not fall for that trick," the woman with her back to us told him. "I will not spin around to see whom you are speaking too and leave myself open for you to overpower me."

Sherlock grinned in a predatory way. "I don't care if you believe me or not, Miss Welton. Your belief won't stop my brother's assistant from bashing your head in."

The woman, Miss Maggie Welton, gave a trilling laugh that grated on my nerves as I snuck up behind her. "Come now, Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Freddie has told me exactly how acrimonious your relationship with your brother is. He isn't going to come save you when he has more important people to protect."

Sherlock's grin only grew in both size and viciousness. I shuddered involuntarily at the thought of having that grin aimed at me. That irritated me and my pinch to the nerves in her neck may have been a bit more forceful than I'd intended. "See, Miss Welton, I did warn you though I expected something a bit more violent."

"Her headache when she wakes will be much worse, though," I argued. "The Vulcan Neck Pinch is a tried and true method of subduing an enemy."

Sherlock's eyes slid from the woman crumpled at my feet to lock with mine. "The what?" He asked.

I raised an eyebrow at him. "You don't know of the Vulcan Neck Pinch?" I asked astonished.

"My brother's knowledge of pop culture references is sadly lacking. John has tried to correct this oversight but Sherlock merely deletes any information he finds trite or untrue or boring or unnecessary." Mycroft told me.

I shrugged and opened my phone as it buzzed. "Bryce is waiting outside, sir, and he warns us that there is a hurricane headed our way."

The words were barely out of my mouth before Sherlock was sprinting towards the shadows to the front of the room. "Mycroft," a voice growled. "You promised you'd keep him safe."

Sherlock gathered John into his arms for a deep kiss and then rested his forehead against the older man's. "He did hire Ariadne," he commented. "That counts."

"So it does," John nodded agreeably and sent me a small grateful smile.

And that is now the end of my story. Truly, this time. I hope you enjoyed it though it wasn't nearly as exciting or as adventurous as some of their cases. Now, it is quite late and my Irina is calling for me to join her in the bedroom so I will bid you adieu.


End file.
